Spirit on the Range: a Montana cowboy romance by Sofia Aves

Author:Sofia Aves [Aves, Sofia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Little Quail Press
Published: 2024-02-19T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER EIGHT

My glow lasted all the way around to Longside. I pulled in through the gate, determined to find out if they had a slasher deck that worked and a decent tin of stain for the front gate. But as with lots of well intended plans, mine were busted to shit the moment I arrived.

Three glossy pickups with all the extras attached were parked out the front of the house in a haphazard pattern when I pulled into the yard. Three men dressed in clean jeans and crisp shirts stood in a circle close to each other.

And one girl with wild hair, too soft to be around that sort of man safely, stood in the middle of them all.

“...and you know it’s due.” The tall man with his back to me, wearing a bright blue shirt that looked like it came fresh out of a packet without a wrinkle on it, pressed his hands to his hips, bowing over Sienna.

To her credit she didn’t back off or speak to him.

Her hands twitched at her side, from the tiny amount of her I could see from my angle. His friends, dressed up like they were headed for a wedding in their Sunday Best and not just a regular work day, closed in.

“Morning,” I called cheerfully, fighting the urge to flatten the asshole looming over my girl.

The tall man turned to face me and without a single word passing his lips, I knew exactly who he was from the derisive sneer on his face as he looked me up and down and turned away.

Jamie Quintel, heir apparent to the Double B ranch down south. Born to money, and worked as hard as anyone born with a silver spoon in his mouth who never had to earn a single dime of it alone–only from the backs of others.

Like my mother.

Double B was off-limits. Every trader in the state knew that. The hands weren’t watched to ensure cash and small items didn’t disappear without being paid a fair price for. No trader went there after one was tossed onto the road in front of the place with only the clothes on his back and a few blooming bruises. The owner redistributed his stock and reallocated his truck. None of it was ever reported because he had the local sheriffs–plural–in his pocket so deep I was surprised any of them looked anything but pasty white.

“I won’t ask again, Sienna.” He turned back to her, reaching out to cup her face. His fingers dimpled on her cheek as she tried to shake him free.

“I don’t think she likes that,” I said softly, but clearly enough to be heard across the yard.

The house’s front door opened, banging against the wall as Brendan lurched out of it. “That you, Jamie?”

Bang on the money, old man.

From the set of his mouth, the taste of shit in his yard carried in both directions from the man with his hands on his daughter.

And my girl.

“Just came to collect, is all,” Jaimie called back easily, though he never dropped his hand.

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